


Two Seasons

by orphan_account



Series: Goldfinch AU [1]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M, au: the goldfinch, this is very sad i am sorry.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Goldfinch, but it's Eddie and Vic.(In case you haven't read/watched TGF -- it's not necessary to understand this! It's just inspired by the book/movie <3:-)!)
Relationships: Mr. Blonde/"Nice Guy" Eddie Cabot
Series: Goldfinch AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726726
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Two Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i am insane. i am literally balls to the wall insane. i wrote this in a day running solely off a can of bang energy and pure love for these two.
> 
> i would like to take a moment to dedicate this to mya nephrosoupp & louisewilder + rysttle on tumblr. you guys inspire me so much and i could not have done this without your artwork and writing! :-) love U!
> 
> this is the first part of a series i wrote w my dear friend poppy (tumblr user honeychvrch) !!! second part is called Shoot First Kiss Later :-)
> 
> cw for drug use, mentions of parental abuse, and vomiting!
> 
> <3 ok i hope you enjoy!!

Vic Vega’s alarm clock sounds off just as he opens his eyes, blinking in the morning sunlight that filtered in through the blinds. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls his pillow over his head, mentally unready to go through another day of school. 

When the monotonous beeping of the alarm becomes too much for him to take, he gets up, pulling off his pajamas and sliding into a too-big polo shirt (a hand-me-down from Vincent) and not bothering to brush his hair or grab breakfast before leaving. 

It’s only 7 in the morning and the sun is already shining bright over the horizon, beams flickering in between buildings. Vic rests his head against the window and lets the bumps in the road jolt his head around. When they pull up to the high school he tries not to think about the fact that he has eight hours before he’ll be back on the bus and on his way home -- then again, he’s not sure which is the lesser of the two evils: home or school? He decides on “the in-between of travelling to either” as the best choice and tables the topic in his mind, determined to go through the rest of the day without having to think critically about Anything.

\---

For the most part, he’s successful in this. The day passes by without incident until his last hour (English -- far from his easiest subject). He lets his mind wander as the teacher drones on about a new student in the class. It’s not until he lifts his head up from his desk that he actually sees the kid she was talking about, and man. If he had one wish, it’d be to go back in time and actually listen to what she was saying, because there’s nothing he wants more in that moment than to know who, exactly, this kid  _ is _ . 

He has a mess of sandy auburn curls and dull blue eyes, and, despite the fact that he’s at _most_ 5’3, he’s wearing a large men’s dress shirt, sleeves hanging down past his fingertips, fabric billowing out from where he had tucked it into his pants.   
He’s looking around helplessly when he spots Vic eyeing him and, mistaking his curiosity for kindness, plops down in the seat diagonally in front of him, turning around to give Vic a grateful beam. Vic’s chest immediately feels like he’s been hit by a truck and he has to take a second to regather himself and find where he’d left off in his daydreaming. He does his best to push the whole “new-kid-makes-me-feel-like-I’ve-been-struck-with-a-signal-searchlight” thing down, but still finds his mind wandering forward two seats, over one. 

\---

The bell rings. Vic feels the weight on his shoulders lift -- he’s no longer at the mercy of the school’s bell system dictating his location (even though he hardly goes anyway -- he’d say  _ it’s the principle of the thing _ if you asked him). He hurries out the door, not noticing the new kid’s crestfallen face as Vic brushes past him. 

On the bus, Vic takes his usual seat at the very back, grumbling a bit when he sees that a freshman’s taken up the single-person seat to the right, forcing him to open himself up to the risk of having to share his seat.  _ No big deal _ , he tells himself,  _ no one in their right mind would choose to sit next to the juvenile delinquent _ \--

The new kid plonks down next to him.

_ Shit. _

“Do you mind if I sit here?” The boy’s voice is high-pitched, almost squeaky, but not quite. He looks nervous, as if Vic might hit him or tell him to scram.

Vic considers doing that, telling him to get out and to leave him alone, but that feeling settles in again and despite himself he gives the boy a weak smile, which is immediately returned with 10 times the sincerity. 

“I’m Eddie. I was in your sixth hour --”

As Eddie turns his eyes to face Vic, he notices that Eddie has a scar running along his eyebrow. 

“Ha! You’re like Tony Montana!”

“Fuck off!” Eddie says, but he’s smiling and laughing along with Vic and Vic’s chest constricts again with that twisty feeling that he can’t quite place. He shoves Eddie’s shoulder and, to his delight/surprise, Eddie pushes back.

\---

Eddie spends the rest of the bus ride rambling along about his thoughts on Los Angeles (too-hot) and Echo Park (super-boring) and their school (different than in New York) and music (he likes the Velvet Underground and Radiohead best, but he also likes some newer stuff, too) and movies (he hates Scarface, actually, and he’s already had that comparison drawn before so it wasn’t even funny, in fact!). 

Vic’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and he’s okay with that, but he finds himself replying to Eddie, having a conversation -- the first good one he’s had in what feels like years. 

\---

They end up finding out that they not only have the same bus stop, but also live one block apart from each other. 

“Do you want to come to mine?”

Eddie looks like he wants to say yes but is too scared that Vic is joking to actually say yes. 

Vic, rather than addressing this, just continues: “It’s not far.”

“You’re not joking?” Eddie says, concern still etched onto his face. 

Vic can’t help but bend over in laughter before taking Eddie by the arm and walking towards his house. 

\---

Vic pulls out a bottle of vodka from the freezer. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie raise his eyebrows. 

“Won’t your dad notice or something?” Eddie says, fidgeting with his hands. 

Vic shrugs. ‘He’s never around. And when he is, he’s either drunk off his ass or already mad at me or both.” 

Eddie’s face contorts in worry and Vic immediately regrets saying anything.

“No big deal.” Vic says, forcing a smile and unscrewing the cap on the bottle. He pours two glasses full to the brim, not bothering with any add-ons or mixers -- he’s gotten used to the sting of it by now, even kind of likes it, and besides, all they have is bread and sugar and more vodka. 

They head out to the  _ piazza _ , as Eddie insists on calling it (it’s just a small, 5x5 clearing of tree-covered grass, Vic rebukes, but Eddie remains adamant), armed with the glasses of vodka and 3 cigarettes. (One for Vic, one for Eddie, and one strategically picked so that they’d be forced to pass it back and forth.)

They sit in silence for a bit on the veranda (another Eddie-ism) before Eddie breaks it. 

“Vic, this is gross,” he says, holding out the glass of vodka and making a face. 

“You’re telling me. My dad drinks this stuff like  _ water _ .”

“Gross!”

“I know, right? He’s insane!”

“My dad manages some secret business that I’m not allowed to know about. Last time I tried to sneak in on one of his meetings, I saw a bunch of guys with guns.”

“Now  _ that’s _ insane! What did you do?”

“I ran out of there, duh!”

Seeing Eddie dissolve into laughter, a genuine smile creeps its way onto Vic’s face for the first time that day.

\---

The sun goes down and Eddie mentions something about needing to head home. By that point, they’re both stumbling and grabbing onto each other for support as they walk back into the house.

“I’ll walk you home, yeah? There’s no way you’re not gonna pass out on the way back.” Vic says, narrowing his eyes, the last light of the sun’s rays creeping in between his eyelashes. 

Eddie looks like he’s going to refuse, then looks like he’s going to pass out, then agrees.

Vic plucks him up by his shoulders. He’s surprisingly light and Vic feels a wave of worry wash over him -- is Eddie suffering the same way he is? 

When they make it to Eddie’s house, he realizes his suspicion is correct: the house is just as barren as his own, complete with half a loaf of stale bread and countless empty bottles of wine. Vic’s heart twinges with a strange feeling -- something akin to pity but differing in that it’s shared; a mirror reflection of his own pain being acknowledged for the first time. The austere exterior and slim offerings of the house contrast sharply to its grandeur -- despite its outward appearance of being a typical Echo Park condo, it’s filled to the brim with antique-looking furniture, crystalline glassware, and a 64-inch television screen.

“Eddie -- hey, Eddie, where’s your room?” Vic says, prodding his shoulder. 

“Mm - it’s just down the hall.” Eddie mumbles. 

Vic resituates Eddie so that he’s more or less being carried on Vic’s back and stumbles his way down the hall towards Eddie’s room. 

It’s small, which is to be expected, but unlike the rest of the house, it’s empty aside from a bed, a desk, and a few stacks of tattered books. 

Vic gingerly sets a now-unconscious Eddie down on the bed, pulling a threadbare blanket over his body and tip-toeing out of the house as quietly as he can. 

\---

He misses the bus the next day, choosing to let his alarm blare over songs of the morning birds and passing cars. 

Instead of going to school, he spends the day drifting in and out of sleep until two in the afternoon, at which point he drags himself out of bed and makes an attempt to look decently presentable. When the roar of the bus’s engine sounds from down the road, he smooths his hair back in the bathroom mirror and scrambles outside, making an attempt to seem as if he’s just out getting the mail. 

With his back to the bus-stop, he spends an agonizingly long time finding his key, opening the mailbox, and fumbling around inside of it (despite the fact that there’s no mail inside). 

“Vic?”

Vic turns around and tries his best to seem shocked to be seeing Eddie. “Crazy seeing you here!”

“What?” Eddie wrinkles his nose. 

_ What the fuck. This is our mutual bus stop in our neighborhood. What the fuck. You are Incredibly Stupid. A Fool. A Clown. A - _

_ “ _ Why weren’t you at school today? Are you sick?”

“No, um,” Vic starts, looking for an excuse, “I was--”

“Oh, good. I was worried.”

Vic feels his face turn pink. “What?”

Eddie’s turn to flush. “Oh, euh, nothing,” he pauses, “Do you want to maybe hang out? If you feel up to it --”

“Yes!” Vic blurts out before correcting, “I mean, sure, yeah. If you want.”

Eddie beams and Vic feels relief like he’s never felt before. 

\---

The days pass easily and rhythmically, Vic attending school 75% of the time and meeting Eddie at the bus stop when he doesn’t; Eddie doing his homework while Vic smokes stolen cigarettes; shoplifting sunglasses from the local Target; lazing about at each other’s houses, watching Spaghetti Westerns at Vic’s and old Hollywood romances at Eddie’s; scrounging together spare change to buy shitty joints from the college drop-out down the block; spending weekends floating through a haze of weed and alcohol and whatever else they can get their hands on; falling asleep on Vic’s bed in the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the window and waking up curled into each other; excusing drunken kisses and desperate late-night hook-ups as “just needing girls” (a half-truth) and “I don’t remember anything from last night” (a flat-out lie, but one they’re both grateful the other doesn’t challenge.)

\--- 

Thanksgiving. Eddie’s dad is out with his new girlfriend, so they’re having dinner at Eddie’s (strips of bacon stolen from H&H between slices of bread that have minimal amounts of mold, washed down with copious amounts of alcohol) when Eddie makes a face like he’s suddenly remembered something and jumps up from the table. 

“Eddie -- ?”

“One sec!” comes Eddie’s voice echoing from down the hall. 

Vic sits in a confused/drunken stupor until Eddie reappears, waving around a thin sheet of aluminum foil between his fingers.

“What? What is that?”

Eddie hurries over, barely containing his excitement as he carefully unwraps the foil to reveal two small, perfectly square pieces of cardstock.

Vic does a double take. “Is that--”

“Acid! Like we talked about!”

“Where did you even get it?!”

“You know the girl in our English class, the one with--”

“The one with the curly blonde hair?”

“Yes! Poppy, she got it from her cousin.”

“Tony Montana strikes again!” Vic exclaims, lunging up from the table to tackle Eddie to the ground, laughing and beaming at each other until they realize their mouths are mere inches away, at which point they scramble away from each other, both of their faces turning a bright red. 

After a few moments of wide-eyed staring at each other, Eddie clambers to his feet and busies himself with the foil, spending an inordinate amount of time with his back to Vic, giving them both time to regather and repress what just happened.

Spinning on his heel, Eddie holds up the two squares in his hands and grinning. Vic gets to his feet and plucks the paper from Eddie’s left hand. 

“What now?” Eddie says, gesturing with the remaining square.

Vic pops the paper in his mouth and shrugs. “Now we wait.”

\---

After a few hours and a  _ very _ blurry series of events, they end up lying on their backs on the deck of the neighborhood association pool. Vic comes into a state of clarity and sees the stars above him, shining so vividly white that he’s forced to turn his head to the side. In between the undulating waves of reality, Eddie’s profile comes into focus. He’s talking to the night sky and laughing about something, smiling brighter than the stars, but this time Vic doesn’t want to turn away.

“Are you seeing this, toothpick?!” Eddie says, turning his whole body to face Vic (who, in turn, snaps his head back up to the sky, embarrassed to have been caught gazing at Eddie). 

“Vic, hey! Look at me! I want to show you something!”

Vic obliges, lowering his cheek back down to the cold concrete of the pool deck and looking at Eddie.

“Check this out -- it’s  _ so _ cool.” Eddie says with Complete Conviction before proceeding to wave his hand in front of Vic’s face. 

“What are you doing, you’re so -- Holy shit. You’re right. Wait, do that again.”

Eddie laughs with his entire body, the throes of which thrust his body leaning in towards Vic until their foreheads press together. Neither of them flinch or move back. They remain there, even after Eddie’s done laughing, even when they realize there’s no reason for them to be so close.

_ The cool grey cement of the pool deck. White dust floating down from the beating of the moth’s wings against the floodlights. The warmth of his shoulder pressing against mine. The experience of our lives intersecting and merging together.  _ **_I have never known a closeness like this._ **

“Vic.” Eddie whispers, and Vic can feel Eddie’s breath on his cheek. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t move back when Eddie leans in and he doesn’t move back when Eddie kisses him. 

Eddie pulls away abruptly, eyes wide and face red. He stumbles to his feet and before Vic can say anything he’s gone, pushing his way through the pool’s gates.

Vic’s vision is swimming and he can’t tell if it’s just the acid or if he’s actually crying. Either way, he crawls on his knees to the edge of the water and throws up in the pool, telling himself that his body is shaking from the convulsions of vomiting, that his muffled sobs aren’t what’s wracking his frame, that he’s just sick from the drugs. 

_ \--- _

Vic wakes up with his temple throbbing. He blinks his eyes open, squinting in the glare of the morning sunlight. He lets his head fall back down and it hits the ground --  _ hard.  _ He realizes where he is, recalls the events of the night before, and is stumbling to his feet when he vomits again. 

When he’s finished, he drags himself up from the ground -- more carefully this time. Closing his eyes and taking a measured breath in, he steadies himself before ambling his way back to his house and collapsing into bed.

\---

He wakes up after what feels like a few minutes, but what has actually been 

(as revealed by an unseen screaming voice) a few days. 

He curls up, shielding his head with his hands -- preparing for a blow. 

‘Vic?” comes the voice, soft now, nervous; no longer screaming, no longer angry. 

Vic hesitantly opens his eyes, expecting to see his father, or maybe a social worker -- but it’s Eddie, standing there, wringing his hands and staring at Vic, eyes tinged with a mix of worry and guilt. 

Vic feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him as the events of last night (or, rather, two nights ago -- or maybe three?) flash before his eyes. He wants to curl up again, but not out of fear of being hit -- out of fear of being  _ seen _ . 

They stay like that for a while, just looking at each other. The worry never leaves Eddie’s face and Vic is angry at first, angry that someone would pity him, but then he realizes that it’s  _ not  _ pity, it’s concern -- genuine, honest, born-out-of-love  _ concern.  _ He looks away upon realizing this, ashamed to be known deeply enough to merit that. 

“Vic, hey. Vic. Look at me,” Eddie says, “Please?”

Despite himself, Vic turns his head to face him. 

Eddie smiles, relief replacing fear. “Hey, um,” he pauses, “I didn’t see you at school for a few days. And I’d already taken a day off before I even went back, and when you didn’t show up for a few days teachers started asking questions to me and then I got worried and then I thought about how I just left you there at the pool that night and then I got worried even more and started worrying about like, what if you drowned, or got caught by security and were rotting in jail all because of me, or even worse what if you did something to y-”

“Eddie.” 

Eddie stops, looking at Vic. He’s crying. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s not talk about it.”

“Are you sure? I-”

Vic gets up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and wincing at the stiffness that had settled in as a result of sleeping for (according to Eddie) approximately four days. 

“I’m sure.” Vic says as he slides past Eddie, feeling a twinge of guilt for being so cold to him, then pushing it down when he remembers the sight of Eddie’s back disappearing into darkness. 

\---

Vic is making himself breakfast (toast with sugar on it -- it’s all they have) when he hears the glass door at the back of the house slide open and then, immediately, slide shut. He feels the cloud of guilt pass over him again. This time, he lets it hang there.

\---

The days continue to pass by, but less easily now, less rhythmically. Vic’s school attendance drops to about 50% and he couldn’t care less. Eddie doesn’t stop by again, and they don’t talk in class; instead, Vic takes up chatting to the girl seated directly next to him. They get along fine, and when she asks him to a movie, he doesn’t say no -- but he can’t ignore the incessant throb of accountability that grabs at his heart when he sees Eddie’s face contort in betrayal. He feels Eddie’s absence constantly -- on the bus in the empty space next to him and in his house, now disturbingly quiet without Eddie’s constant commentary on the movies they would watch. He feels it on the  _ piazza _ , he feels it in the burning in his throat after taking an impossibly long drag from a cigarette, he feels it in the emptiness of his bed at night, which now seems bigger and more vacant than he’d ever imagined possible for a twin-size mattress. He misses their trysts and he misses their excuses for said trysts and he misses  _ Eddie _ . 

\---

Hanukkah arrives, and Vic’s father returns for a few hours before sunset on the first night, drunk off his ass and screaming something about divine justice. Vic sits it out and waits for the inevitable beating to come. When it does, he takes it without a fight, letting the blows consume him.

_You deserve this, you deserve this, you deserve this,_ is all he can think before his vision goes black.

When he wakes up, the first candle in the menorah is lit. 

\---

Vic wakes up in the morning to the doorbell ringing incessantly. Assuming it’s his father having forgotten the key, he takes his time -- sure, he’ll get a beating again, but it’s worth it to know that his dad is waiting in the cold.

Eyes bleary with sleep, he drifts over to the door. When he opens it, he has to blink twice to assure himself he isn’t dreaming.

“Eddie?”

Sure as the sun, Eddie is standing in front of him, face stung red by the cold and squinting in the wind. 

“Can I come in?” he says after a moment, wringing his mitten-clad hands. 

“Shit, yeah. Sorry, come in.” Vic says, moving out of the way. 

Eddie sets his backpack down on the table gently, moving in such a fluid and easy way that Vic is forced to remember every moment spent tossing blueberries at each other across the living room, every moment spent convulsing in uncontrollable laughter on the floor, every moment that Eddie just was in his house -- not even doing anything, just being there, with him. His heart squeezes a little, overcome by nostalgia.

“I brought, um, a little gift, ‘cause I know it’s Hanukkah for you and all -- I marked it down on my calendar, but I didn't know when I was supposed to bring it so I just decided to bring it today, I hope that’s okay --” Eddie says, digging around in his backpack before looking up at Vic and abruptly stopping, mouth hanging open. 

“Vic, Holy Shit.”

Vic raises an eyebrow in confusion, feels a line of pain rush up his face, and immediately realizes why Eddie is looking at him like that. 

_ Shit.  _

Before he can wave away the bruises on his face with some excuse about falling down the stairs or hitting his head on the door, Eddie is fussing over him, brushing his hair out of his face to reveal the full extent of the bruising.

“Vic, Vic, Vic, hey, what happened?” Eddie says, touching his cheek in a way that makes Vic feel like a fragile baby bird found fallen from its nest. 

He looks away. “Nothing.”

“It’s not  _ nothing _ , Vic, your face looks like you got in a fight. I thought you were done with that stuff.”

“I didn’t get into a fight, Eddie, I was telling you the truth when I told you I was done with it!” Vic shouts, indignant.

“Then what happened?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eddie squeezes his shoulder -- gently enough to not raise any alarms in Vic’s mind, but firmly enough to bring him back to reality. Vic is frozen by the complex intensity of being known well enough by someone for them to understand how to hold him. For the first time in years, he lets himself cry. He lets himself be held. 

\---

Eddie comes back the next day, and the next, and the next. They settle back into their rhythm. Vic breaks things off with the girl and they don’t talk about the night by the pool but they find themselves leaning into each other during movies and making fewer excuses for kisses that need less alcohol to happen. They spend most of the rest of winter break sprawled out on Eddie’s couch, Vic making conversation with Eddie’s dad, who tells him to _treat my house like it’s your own -- you can even call me_ _Dad if you want_! (Vic declines, instead taking the offer to call him “Joe”) and Eddie yelling at the both of them to _can it, I’m tryin’ to watch the movie!_

Vic is grateful -- for Eddie, for Joe, for Spaghetti Westerns, for old Hollywood romances, for snowflakes, for sunlight, for all of it. He finds himself smiling in quiet moments alone -- when Eddie’s in the shower or getting the mail, or when Joe’s forcing them to both  _ shut up and go read a book _ , or when he’s walking back to his house to get something he forgot -- a toothbrush, or maybe a missing sock. Always,  _ always _ , he is thinking of Eddie. 

\---

_ You’re back in your old house, the one you grew up in, the one your mom died in. You’re at the parashah and your entire family is there and your dad is reciting the lines and you’re not taking any of it in because you’re too busy staring at your mother. You feel tears running down your face but you don’t know why and now everyone is staring at you and could they please stop because you feel very vulnerable like this? And then your mother is holding you and you’re crying even harder and you open your eyes and they may be bleary with tears but blurred vision doesn’t equal red vision, and so you’re rubbing the tears out of your eyes but you immediately wish that you hadn’t because your mother’s face is gone, replaced with a bullet wound that’s covering your trembling body in blood, and your dad is holding the smoking gun and he’s shaking and howling at you to do something but you can’t hear what he’s telling you to do because you’re too busy screaming. You scream and you scream and you keep screaming, but no one is doing anything except yelling at you, and your mother is gone from your arms now and you’re alone and -- _

_ And you’re being shaken awake.  _

“Vic! Vic -- stop thrashing around --”

Vic, realizing he is, in fact, mid-thrash, stops and lowers his arms to the mattress. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to apologize. C’mere.” Eddie says, then wraps an arm around Vic, pulling him in and settling his face into the crook of Vic’s neck. 

“You don’t have to --”

“I know I don’t have to.”

\---

Vic wakes up in the morning to an empty bed and the smell of fresh coffee -- the good kind, too, the kind that you make in one of those fancy glass things that he doesn’t know the name of but has always dreamed of having. (When he saw one sitting on Eddie’s counter, his jaw dropped open, and when he told Eddie  _ why  _ his mouth was hanging open, Eddie burst out laughing and didn’t stop for five whole minutes. When he did, he told Vic he could have it if he wanted it, but he was already embarrassed and just flipped Eddie off.)

As he makes his way downstairs, he hears music from the radio floating through the air. As he nears the landing, he hears Eddie’s voice join in:

_ Sometimes I feel so happy _

_ Sometimes I feel so sad _

_ Sometimes I feel so happy _

_ But mostly you just make me mad _

_ Baby, you just make me mad _

_ Linger on your pale blue eyes _

_ Linger on your pale blue eyes _

He’s not good -- far from it, voice pitchy and off by about an octave, but Vic feels like his heart is being squeezed so hard that it’s going to burst. 

Eddie sees him and beams, pulling him by his arm into the kitchen and using it to spin himself around. 

“Dance with me!” Eddie calls, leaning into Vic’s shoulder.

Vic feels his face turn bright red, but he takes Eddie’s hand anyway.

\---

The day passes quickly, its rate accelerated by their copious consumption of alcohol (brought over from Vic’s house, because Eddie insists that despite the fact that the entire basement has been dedicated to Joe’s ever-expanding wine collection, he’ll somehow notice a singular missing bottle). 

Joe’s out at work, and Eddie and Vic are, as usual, slumped down on the couch watching a movie -- Eddie’s pick, “Sunset Boulevard” this time. 

Vic’s barely paying attention, instead stealing glances at Eddie, whose head is resting on Vic’s shoulder.

“This is my favorite part --” Eddie says, looking up at Vic but stopping when he sees that Vic is already looking at him. They stay like that for a minute, eyes locked, until Eddie smiles up at him and looks back at the screen, grabbing at Vic’s collar to tell him to do the same. 

Vic feels a wave of relief wash over him, but (to his surprise) it’s not pure, untainted relief -- it’s tinted with a shade of regret. Flashes of memory rush past his mind, stolen kisses and Eddie’s hands on the small of his back and of course,  _ of course _ that night by the pool. He pushes this down and focuses on the movie, grateful to have Eddie at all. 

\---

By the time the credits roll, Eddie’s asleep on Vic’s shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. Vic eases himself out from under Eddie, gently lowering his head down onto a pillow and covering him with a blanket. 

It’s late in the evening now, and they were too busy watching the movie to remember to eat, so Vic heads over to the kitchen and digs out a bag of frozen chicken strips that Joe must’ve bought from Costco or something because Holy Shit, there’s like a million pieces of chicken in there. 

It quickly becomes apparent that Vic really has absolutely no idea what to do when given food that is not intended for the microwave, because the chicken strips burn while he’s out on the patio with one of Joe’s cigarettes and Eddie is yelling at him from inside the house to  _ get your ass in here, toothpick, you are so stupid! _

Once the crisis has been averted, Eddie lets out an exaggerated sigh that Vic can’t help but laugh at, and then Eddie’s yelling at him again, but without urgency, and Vic is laughing again and they’re tackling each other to the floor, completely forgetting the chicken strips until they’re too cold to be enjoyable, but sharing anyway. 

\---

The day continues to pass, its pace becoming even more rapid, as aided by what has panned out to be a frankly alarmingly large amount of consumed alcohol. 

Eddie is on his back in the living room, babbling on about something that Vic doesn’t understand. Vic, having been in the kitchen fixing them both another drink, staggers over and plunks himself down next to Eddie and hands him the drink. Eddie reaches for it, but his hand misses the glass by about 2 inches, so Vic makes the Executive Decision to retract the offer. 

“Viiiiiic, come on,” Eddie slurs, sitting up. 

“You’re only strengthening my argument, Eddie, you’re too far gone as it is!”

Eddie groans, leaning into Vic and looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. “You Stiiiiiink!”

Vic, also Very Drunk, doesn’t rebuke this, instead deciding to lean back into Eddie, pressing into his body until they’re so close Vic can feel Eddie’s breath on his cheek. Again, he’s thrown back into the memory of the night by the pool, when Eddie had --

_ Stop. Stop. He doesn’t want you like that. He was just high. He didn’t mean it, he even ran away after, I mean, come  _ on _ , Vic -- _

His train of thought is interrupted by Eddie scrabbling out from under him, leaving him to fall onto the ground. 

Eddie laughs, then shouts something along the lines of  _ I’m going to get something I’ll be right back! _ before disappearing around the corner. 

Vic sits up, wincing as his head pounds at the sudden movement. Before he opens his eyes, Eddie is back, practically bouncing off the wall with excitement and holding a yellow canvas bag in one hand.

“Wait, wait, I have to unwrap it,” Eddie says, plopping himself down on the ground and busying himself with opening up the bag -- something that, Vic notes, would take an inordinate amount of time, even for someone who isn’t as black-out drunk as Eddie is. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to produce a small rectangle covered in old strips of yellowing newspaper. 

“What is it?” Vic says, squinting at Eddie.

“Hang on.” he says, gingerly unwrapping the paper with such grace and care that Vic almost forgets he’s Literally Shitfaced. 

Eddie beams at Vic. “Are you ready?”

Vic shrugs. 

“Jeez, a little enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you, ya know--”

“Okay, okay, yes I am ready, I am absolutely  _ dying _ to know what is inside.”

“ _ Thank _ you.” Eddie says, voice dripping with sarcasm. He slowly removes the remaining strip of newspaper.

“Holy  _ shit _ . Eddie.” Vic breathes.

“I know.” 

Resting in Eddie’s lap is a small panel, a painting of a little brown bird resting on the wooden ring that it’s chained to. At the bottom of the panel is a signature: “C. Fabritius, 1654.”

“How did you even --”

Eddie looks away. “I don’t really -- I don’t want to talk about it.”

Vic knows better than to press, and instead stares wide-eyed at the painting. He’d never been a big art-loving type, but the bird’s gaze captures him, freezing him in the feeling that he’s being  _ watched.  _ He forces himself to rip his eyes away, but the feeling persists. 

After a while, Eddie wraps the painting up and stows it away, back in his bedroom, and they put on a movie, Vic’s choice this time, picking “Django”. It’s one of his all-time favorites, but he’s haunted by the painting. It’s all he can think about -- that bird, contained to a wall for its entire life, trapped. 

_ Is it even aware of its situation? _ Vic thinks, and then, _ Am I? _

\---

Eventually, Eddie passes out. Once Vic is sure that he’s out cold, he carefully slides off the couch.

_ You can’t do this. You can’t do this. _

Despite every fiber of his being telling himself  _ stop, stop, stop, what are you doing _ , he finds himself moving towards Eddie’s bedroom, trancelike. He spends the better part of an hour rummaging through Eddie’s things, desperate to find the yellow bag. 

When he does, he holds it tightly, staring at it. 

_ What are you doing, Vic, come on come on, just put it back he’ll never know, you can’t do this, you can’t betray him like this -- _

He takes a breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind, to gain some sort of consciousness of what he’s doing, what he’s about to do -- but the image of the bird comes into focus behind his eyelids and before he realizes it he’s running back to his house, the bag tucked under his arm.

\--- 

Life resumes. Eddie never mentions the painting, and Vic suspects that he doesn’t even remember showing it to him. 

In contrast to Eddie’s nonchalance about the whole thing, Vic spends his days obsessively preoccupied with the painting. Some days, when Eddie’s asleep, he slips out of the house and returns to his own, staring back at the bird. He searches the Internet for the painting (“The Goldfinch”, it’s called), then frantically deletes his search history. 

Eddie can tell something’s wrong, but Vic lashes out when he asks if there’s anything on his mind. He hates himself for it and he aches for the past when they’d fall asleep curled together in Eddie’s bed -- now, he just stares up at the ceiling waiting for Eddie’s breath to even out before going back to the painting. Even if he wanted to sleep, it takes hours to fall asleep, and when he does, it’s plagued with nightmares -- Eddie discovering his betrayal, his father finding the painting, his house burning down. 

He can’t eat, either. Every time he tries to swallow, he feels like he’s going to throw up. Eddie notices this, too, and Vic feels like he’s suffocating with guilt every time Eddie looks at him while he tries to eat, face painted with worry. Sometimes, he can’t even keep food down, violently throwing up a few hours after eating. Once, he passes out over the toilet and awakes to Eddie crying and shaking him awake.

Even Joe notices. He pulls him aside, and starts talking about eating disorders and how, if Vic needs it, he can find him a therapist, or something, whatever he needs, he’s just worried, is all, and Eddie is too. Vic doesn’t know what to say. He waits for Joe to finish before politely declining, saying it’s probably just some weird stomach bug or stress from school starting back up. Joe doesn’t seem to believe it, but doesn’t press the issue, and Vic is grateful for it. 

\---

It’s on one of Vic’s trips back home for the painting that his father returns, for once completely sober. He finds Vic hiding in the closet and squats down, taking a deep breath in before explaining to Vic that he’s found a new job in Vermont, that they have to move  _ “as soon as possible” _ and that “ _ I know it sucks, kid, and I know I haven’t been the best dad, but this’ll be good for us.” _

Vic barely registers anything after “ _ we have to move _ ”. He must be crying, because his father is wiping his cheek and saying  _ “I know, I know. It’s okay.” _ and Vic’s memory flashes back to that day when Eddie came back and stroked his cheek and he feels like he’s going to be sick and oh, God,  _ Eddie,  _ what’s he going to tell Eddie, and the  _ painting _ ,  _ the painting, the painting.  _

He doesn’t remember running out of the house and down to Eddie’s house and he doesn’t remember telling Eddie what happened but he remembers Eddie asking if he’s joking, and telling him it’s not funny, and he remembers crying even harder and he remembers Eddie holding him as they both cry. 

\---

They spend the next few days curled up in Eddie’s bed, alternating every hour between crying and laughing and sitting in complete silence, just holding each other. 

On the day he leaves, Vic retrieves the painting from under his bed and takes an hour to stare at it, weighing the pros and cons of telling Eddie or just taking it with him. He decides on the latter and is consumed with shame. He considers not even going over to say goodbye to Eddie and Joe, because  _ God, _ how could he in light of such  _ utter _ betrayal.

Despite this, he forces himself to walk over to Eddie’s, finding Eddie already sitting on the doorstep waiting for him. 

“Vic.” Eddie says, voice raw, and Vic can tell he’s been crying. 

“Hi, Eds.” Vic says, forcing a smile in spite of the fact that he feels like he’s going to hurl. Eddie smiles back before his face crumples up and he starts crying. 

“God, I’m sorry, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry --”

“It’s okay, Eddie,” Vic says, “Um, I only have a few minutes. Packing up took longer than I thought it would and our flight’s in two hours but you know how airports are and --”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad to, um, oh, God, I’m just glad to see you. Before you go.”

“Me too.”

They stand there for a while, Eddie fidgeting with his hands and Vic looking anywhere but at Eddie.

Vic’s dad’s car pulls up. 

“Shit, Vic, I don’t even -- I don’t know what to say. Um --”

The car’s horn sounds and Vic’s dad is yelling something about  _ hurry your ass up, Victor _ and Vic just stands there staring at Eddie and before he can convince himself otherwise he’s lunging forward and kissing Eddie and this time there’s no excuse, he’s not drunk and he’s not high and he’s not desperate for a girl, he’s desperate for  _ Eddie,  _ he’s desperate for what they had and for what they could’ve had, and then he’s pulling away and opening the car door and not looking back at Eddie, because if he did he knows Eddie would be crying and he just can’t handle that, not now, not ever.

As he watches the houses pass by, he can’t help but think to himself that he has just lost the one good thing that’s ever happened to him.


End file.
